Sweet Vengeance
by punyfairies
Summary: One of the story lines in the show that really left an impression on me was what happened when Paolo came to Rome to seek out Lucrezia, and subsequently what she did with that chandelier to punish Juan. To me, that was the incident that truly awoke the Borgia blood in Lucrezia and when she lost all of her innocence and became vengeful. This oneshot is just my take on that process.


1.

I look down into the pristine water of the fountain and see my reflection. For a brief moment, I am transported back to the meadow that I shared with my Narcissus. The pool of water in the puddle was clear then, too. The difference was that his reflection was also there beside mine.

As I continue to look into the fountain, I think I can see his face reflected in the water. It is once again right there beside mine. I stare harder now at what must be a projection of my imagination. I close my eyes, and open them again, and there it is again.

I finally look up and see him standing there.

"Can this be true?" I murmur.

"Lucrezia," he says.

I could hardly believe it.

"Paolo," I automatically reply, dazed.

But joy flares inside of me, as it hasn't done for a very long time. There he stands, my only solace during my marriage to that brute, Giovanni Sforza, the boy who willingly endured whipping for me, the father of my child.

Before anything more could be said, he is yanked away from me by my brother Juan.

"How dare a peasant look upon the Pope's daughter! My god!" Juan snarled and pushed the tip of his dagger against Paolo's throat. "I should kill you right here!"

"No," I cry out, afraid and panicked. "No," I say to my bloodthirsty brother, and to Paolo. "If he wishes to repent, he should come back here at midnight tomorrow to think about what he has done."

I pointedly look at Paolo, desperately hoping that he has understood my invitation. Then I lead my still furious brother away into the crowd of curious spectators, desperately hoping that he has not.

2.

Paolo has come to see me. Paolo has sought me out. Paolo has traveled all this way to meet me. These thoughts run through my head over and over again throughout the day.

I know I should not see him. If anyone found out, he will die for certain. My vengeful brother Juan, or even my father the Pope, will surely not let him live for fear of a scandal.

But at midnight, I slip on a robe and pull the hood over my face. I must see him at least this once.

Thank god, he is waiting for me at the fountain.

Wordlessly, we kiss. The feeling is so instantly familiar. One of sweetness and innocence, words which are beyond the grasp of my scheming, remorseless family. It reminded me of my own innocence and naivety before my father sold me to Giovanni Sforza like a cow. Innocence that I no longer have.

"Paolo," I say once we break apart. "Why have you come? You know you'll be dead the instant anyone finds out that you are here."

"I had to see you one more time," he replies, and pauses. "And I have come to see my child. I have a son?"

"Yes, you have a son," I tell him. "His name is Giovanni. But you know you cannot possibly see him. My family will – "

"Please, Lucrezia," he begs me and looks at me with his kind, dark eyes. "I need to see my son," he says, and my heart breaks.

"If you see him once, will you leave after and never come back?"

"Yes," he says immediately. "I'll go. Just let me see him once, please."

"Come to my mother's house tomorrow night," I relent. Surely everything will be alright if he slips out and disappears in the morning. "We may spend one last night together and you may see your son."

I convince myself that I am not putting his life in danger, and that I must grant him this chance to see his own child. But deep down, I know that I am putting him in danger. I suppress this thought, because I am desperate to spend one last night with him before he disappears forever.

3.

My sweet brother Cesare and my mother arrange for my meeting with Paolo. They do not like it of course, but bless them, they prepare a room for us at my mother's house and help me sneak my baby out from my room in the papal estates.

Everything afterwards is like a dream. In that one night, I allow myself to believe that we are just an ordinary family, father, mother, and son. Paolo is both amazed and bewildered by his son, but most of all, happy. I am drunk in the deceptive simplicity of the moment, and Paolo's warmth and kindness, impossible to find in the dark halls of my father's Papacy.

But the night passes all too quickly and I find myself saying my farewell to Paolo in the first morning light. We keep it brief. He has seen his son; we will never meet again.

I watch as he slips away. All I want now is his safety. I need him to be safe. I need to know that no matter what happens to me in the future, he will be safe somewhere out there, maybe married to someone else and thinking of me now and then. I will comfort myself with the knowledge that Paolo, father of my child, my first love, perhaps the only truly kind person I know, will live out his days, away from the horror of my family.

I am in a good mood as I walk with my brother through the marketplace to return to our cage inside the Vatican walls. But a commotion catches my attention. I turn and see that Cesare has already seen something and is now trying to lead me away from it.

"No, sweet sister, don't look," he pleads.

"What is it?" I ask as I pull away from him. But I think I already know.

There, in the middle of the crowd, my Paolo hangs lifeless with a rope around his neck.

4.

They tell me it was a suicide.

There was even a suicide note addressed to me, Cesare tells me, hoping that this will convince me that Paolo took his own life.

It does the opposite. The moment the suicide note reaches my hands I know that he was murdered. And I think I know the killer.

My father tries to rouse me from my bed. Everyone tries. My baby cries and cries and his nurse begs me to feed him.

But I don't care.

I don't even cry. I have no more tears.

All I can think of is that the only person who was unconditionally kind to me, who was the only reason I survived my marriage with my ex-husband, was dead because of me. For I know that my dear, dear brother Juan killed him in cold blood.

"Lucrezia, please, you must feed your child," my father the Pope begs me. "He took his own life! You have seen the suicide note! This is not your fault," he says for the millionth time, frustrated.

"Yes, I have seen the suicide note," I tell him spitefully. I give him a hard look and make sure I emphasize every word,

"My Paolo could neither read nor write. He could not even pen his own name."

He gapes at me as the implications sink in. He is not stupid; he knows what that means.

"And I think you know who did this."

He is silent. "It was a suicide," he says eventually.

Of course. My father the Pope cannot acknowledge that that my own brother killed the father of my love child. It must be a suicide. I cannot expect him to admit to the truth, even if he knows.

"Give him a Christian burial," I say. "I will not have him burn in purgatory for a sin he did not commit."

I do not tell him that I wish Juan would instead be damned to purgatory for eternity.

The next day, he comes to me and agrees to my request. I gratefully hug my father. At the very least, Paolo will have a proper burial now. I know he will rest in heaven, for his only crime was to have the misfortune of falling in love with me.

5.

I lie in bed with my baby, listening to the sounds of Juan fucking some whore upstairs. I appear to be expressionless, tranquil even, but I am seething at his impertinence and remorselessness.

He murdered my Paolo and now he moans generously in bed with a whore he picked up from god knows where, right above me and my baby, making us listen, taunting my loneliness.

I put my baby back into his cradle and quietly go upstairs with a candle.

He does not even flinch or attempt to cover himself when I enter his room.

"My dear sister," he smiles at me. "We were just picking a bride," he points at the collection of portraits of Spanish princesses sent to him for his choosing. "We think that Donna Maria Enriquez de Luna will do, hmm? What do you think, sweet sister?"

"I am sure she will be lovely," my words are as sweet as poison. I glance up at the giant bronze chandelier hanging above them, with its many sharp ridges and spikes. My eyes travel along the rope hanging it in place, coming to a stop to the place where it is secured to the wall.

"Well, good night, dear brother," I say as I turn to leave. He returns to his fucking as I make my way to the door.

Before I leave, I place my candle right below where the thick rope holding the chandelier was secured to the wall. I make sure that the flame of the candle was licking the fibers of the rope, slowly disintegrating it. I exit without another backward glance.

Back in my room, I lay on my bed, singing to myself and waiting.

Their moaning was louder than ever, but I know it will not continue for much longer. Who will be on top when the chandelier plummets?

Moments later, the woman's moaning turns into a deathly shriek. In my mind, I see the candle flame finally burning through the last string holding the rope in place. I see the rope snap and the weight of the chandelier crashing onto their bed.

I feel a little smile creep onto my face. I do not feel guilty as I hear the havoc upstairs, knowing that I have caused it. I do not think of the poor whore who is surely in agony, or Juan lying under the weight of the girl and the chandelier, in the pool of her blood.

Instead, I feel the Borgia blood in me, which revels in the sweet aftertaste of vengeance.

For the first time, I feel like a true Borgia.


End file.
